


Once More, With Feeling

by quingigillion (cartouche)



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: (Subject to change), Awkwardness, First Kiss, M/M, One Shot, Post Season 1, Singing, Slow Build, post blackwing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 02:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9947240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartouche/pseuds/quingigillion
Summary: He’s standing in the doorway to Todd’s kitchen with his mouth hanging open. His jaw muscles don’t seem to want to close themselves.Todd is singing.Wassinging. He’s stopped, and is now instead staring at Dirk with his usual ‘what the hell’ expression.“What, Dirk?"





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is for [amanda-is-psychic](https://amanda-is-psychic.tumblr.com/) and [princessparadoxical](http://princessparadoxical.tumblr.com/)'s cool prompt about todd singing and song writing and it eventually cluing dirk in that maybe the universe wants smooching
> 
> forgive me my sins for expanding todd’s 2 room apartment into something slightly more substantial.
> 
> its also really hard to write song lyrics into fic espec when you have no musical talent so forgive me even more
> 
> title is a buffy reference. f o r g i v e m e.

Dirk doesn’t really notice at first. It’s not unusual for him to not notice things, as there are a lot of things to be noticed all at once and sometimes he finds it very hard to keep track of it all. There’s clues and suspects and witnesses and coincidences and even the odd nudge from the universe. 

And there’s Todd. Which he tries very hard to notice, but doesn’t often succeed. Which is why he’s standing in the doorway to Todd’s kitchen with his mouth hanging open. His jaw muscles don’t seem to want to close themselves. 

Todd is singing. _Was_ singing. He’s stopped, and is now instead staring at Dirk with his usual ‘what the hell’ expression. He can smell pancakes burning, which is a shame, that’s what had initially drawn him to the kitchen, with the promise of sticky syrup and rainbow sprinkles. 

“ _What_ , Dirk? … The pancakes aren’t ready yet.” Todd glances down at the slowly blackening gloop in the pan and sighs. “Well … They’re too ready. Can you wait a bit?” 

He nods, forcing his mouth to close and a smile to spread across his face like nutella on burnt pancakes. His leg twitches nervously. “Yes! Yes, of course Todd, I’ll, um ...I’ll, _yes_ …” He spins around and strides away and tries to ignore Todd’s eyes boring holes into his back. 

Dirk knows Todd is musical. He’s seen it, seen him and Amanda jam, with a loud guitar and even louder drums. Dirk knows Todd is good. He doesn’t know a _lot_ about music, but he does know that Todd can play the guitar with a decent amount of skill, more than Dirk at least. He struggles to play the triangle. He’s tried. 

But he’s never heard Todd sing before. Which is what makes this a _new_ and _exciting_ discovery. Todd’s voice is rough and husky, but there’s emotion, and definitely a tune too, which all in all makes Todd a _very good_ singer in Dirk’s opinion. And so he begins to listen. When he can, of course, when noticing things isn’t as important and the universe is giving him a break. Todd hums a lot, under his breath while he’s cooking and cleaning and washing clothes, but he only ever really sings when he thinks no one is listening. So Dirk, being a ninja trained by the CIA in espionage, puts all his skills to good use, and blends seamlessly into the background. When he isn’t tripping over the coffee table in Todd’s living room. 

* * *

Dirk supposes it’s bit weird to be pressed up against the bathroom door of your favourite assisfriend, because although _technically_ he is also waiting to shower 3 days worth of grime (general), dried blood (not his) and feathers (from the chicken attack) off of himself, it is a _bit_ weird that he’s currently just a few feet from a presumably naked Todd. But Todd is singing, so he distinctly _isn’t_ thinking about the naked part, and _is_ trying to concentrate on the words. They’re echoing, bouncing against the tiles, and then muffled by the door, which is making it a particularly arduous task, however Dirk is certain he’s never heard it before, and is also 64% sure Todd might be singing about their latest case. He either said Japanese chicken warriors or Socrates’ ticking wonders, and Dirk is inclined to believe it was the former, which makes _far_ more sense. He doesn’t quite expect the door to be flung open in front of him, and he scrambles back, clutching the towels Todd has lent him desperately to his chest. Todd stops and raises a brow at him, and Dirk tries _very_ hard to think of kites shaped like dragons and blue raspberries and bananas in pyjamas and _anything_ really other than Todd wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his hips. His skin is still glistening from the steamy air, and his hair is dark and wet and unruly, neither of which Dirk has noticed. He’s doing a marvellous job currently of _not-noticing_. 

“The shower’s free.” It seems that Dirk’s brain is not available to engage. He stammers slightly, and then runs into the bathroom without a second thought, almost slipping on the wet floor as he hastily shuts the door behind him. 

Clearly his ninja abilities are less impressive than he first thought. 

* * *

They’re cleaning. Well, Todd is cleaning, and Dirk is being generally unhelpful and a bit nosy, but slowly they’re filling up bags of rubbish and slowly Todd’s apartment is looking more like an inhabitable space and less like the Rowdy 3’s personal playground. Dirk’s been trying to apologise, _actually_ apologise this time, for the state that they left his home in, and Todd has been huffing and hoovering up broken bits of cutlery and window and bathroom cabinet. The radio is playing something loud and thrashy that Todd seems to enjoy, so Dirk bites back his suggestion that they should put his new Britney Spears CD on instead. He’s watching him bob his head and hum and messily slather the wall in paint where the red graffiti still peeks through faintly. There are speckles of white on Todd’s arms and his jeans and the carpet. The window is open and there’s a cool spring breeze flitting through the room carrying bird song. It’s all _very_ domestic. 

He can’t help but seize this opportunity to explore, nudging open the door to Todd’s bedroom and creeping in there while the other man is distracted with refilling his roller tray. It’s an empty room, with a bed and a wardrobe and a lot of white. It could be anyone’s if it wasn’t for the picture of Todd and Amanda grinning, arms slung around each other in a dingy bar, taped wonkily next to the mirror. Dirk doesn’t have any pictures, but he thinks he’d like some. Maybe he’ll buy a camera soon, so that he can document the cases him and Todd solve together. 

The radio is still warbling in the other room, and Dirk takes the opportunity to explore further, opening and closing the wardrobe, lifting up Todd’s pillows, before finally checking under the bed. It’s always an excellent hiding place. Underneath the bed is a box. A fairly plain looking box that’s brown and has a lid, but Dirk tugs it out eagerly all the same, and tries not to choke on the heavy layer of dust settled on top of it. He opens it cautiously to find paper. Not a terribly exciting discovery. Some are yellowed and crumpled and smell faintly of mothballs, some are scraps, torn and frayed, ripped hastily, some look fairly new. There’s even a napkin with a suspicious looking lipstick stain halfway through the pile. All of them have Todd’s distinctive handwriting scratched over them various different colours and stages of fading. Some have smudges and most of them have words and lines scribbled out, replaced or never rewritten. 

They’re _songs_. 

Some of them are old enough that Todd was probably a teenager when he wrote them, hasty as the ideas rushed to him. The lines are accompanied by tiny letters above them, denoting chord progressions, and Dirk wonders if Todd ever played any of these in his band or with Amanda, whether he could remember any of them now. It’s probably a terribly idea to keep looking at them, and a part of him twinges to think he’s _intruding_ into Todd’s life, but he wants to know more. The latest one is fairly new, and clearly Post-Dirk, because if he’s not mistaken, Todd is writing about _him_. Well, he’s writing about yellow leather jackets at least, and Dirk doesn’t know anybody else in Todd’s life with such a fantastic fashion sense. 

He places the lid back on the box, careful not to leave suspicious fingerprints in the dust, and replaces it under the bed. He can’t quite stop his lips from beaming into a wide smile as he slips back out of the room and does his best to act nonchalant as Todd finishes painting. 

“I’m going to make tea!” Todd turns with a bemused expression at Dirk’s proclamation. He should probably elaborate. “Would you like some? I have Tetley or Earl Grey or that odd lavender stuff I procured from the eskimo colony when we helped them finding their missing mice.”

* * *

This time, Todd is cooking again. And not just pancakes either, actual proper food that doesn’t go well with rainbow sprinkles. And not just for Dirk. Everyone’s here, Farah, Amanda, even the Rowdies, which makes Dirk vaguely uncomfortable. Still they’re behaving and Amanda is actually _talking_ to Todd and all in all it’s just like having a family. Which makes Easter Dirk’s 3rd favourite holiday, after Christmas and Halloween. Todd’s also promised Dirk that he can paint eggs and eat chocolate bunnies later, which certainly puts Easter above Labour Day, but not _quite_ as good as anything with fireworks, because the bunny part does feel _slightly_ cruel. 

The apartment’s more crowded than usual, mostly due to the presence of the Rowdies taking up more space than they ought to, and Dirk has to politely wriggle and squeeze his way over the kitchen. He just wants to ask Todd if he needs help serving. But Todd, as he often does, is singing again. And he hasn’t noticed Dirk, too busy caught up with checking on pots of carrots and cauliflower. Despite the bustle of conversation in the main room (Dirk can hear Farah swapping tips with at least 2 of the Rowdies on close range combat), Todd’s voice still appears, fragmented, and he pauses to listen, lips curling. Todd has a faded old apron stating ‘Kiss The Cook’ in a peeling transfer tied around his waist. Dirk pretends it isn’t a tempting offer. After all, Todd is merely a _ward_ and hasn’t even reached the level of subordinate yet. It would be entirely inappropriate. So instead he props himself up in the door frame, and tries not to be noticed.

So far, so good. 

Todd’s head is bobbing again, and his foot taps as he opens his pokey oven to remove the only _slightly_ charred lump of meat that has been cooking inside. He can’t help the little extra thump his heart does, looking at the scene. It’s a terrible feeling, and one he really shouldn’t have, but all his lips do is curve into a grin, which is completely unhelpful. 

“... He tells you that universe will always go your way … He’s completely impossible and will drive you insane … But it’s worth it when you’re sitting there at the end of the day … And your life will have changed for the better in a way …” Todd pauses, putting down the teetering stack of plates to strike a pretend chord, oven gloves replacing a plectrum, eyes screwed up as he throws his head back. It’s then that Dirk realises he might just be singing about him again. Which is exciting. And stupid, because Todd is never going to have a hit single with lyrics like those. 

Todd’s eyes open as the song in his head ends and Dirk jolts upright, and attempts to look like he hasn’t been standing there for the last 5 (at least) minutes. 

“I thought you might like a hand with your- with the plates. And the serving. Although if I’m 100% honest, I can’t sit in a room with the Rowdies for much longer, because they’re starting to look hungry and I would definitely be on the menu.” Todd sighs, which he does a lot, and shuffles over, making room for the other man in the tiny kitchen space.

“The plates are hot. Be _careful_.” As if Dirk is ever _not_ careful. He does maybe drop the first one because he hadn’t anticipated quite how hot, but soon the two of them are working shoulder to shoulder in a smooth assembly line of gravy and stuffing. Dirk hands the plates to Amanda, who manages, despite all odds, to squeeze all 8 meals and cutlery around Todd’s cramped table, and even finds room for various sauces and extra gravy. Todd grips Dirk’s arm as she carries the last plate out, and Dirk really wishes his face wouldn’t feel so warm as he’s spun around to face the other man. 

“Thanks for the help, Dirk.” He beams, smile widening as Todd’s face mirrors his, and he almost wishes that Farah wouldn’t yell at them to come out and eat before the food goes cold, but they do as she says and trudge out regardless. 

* * *

Paperwork is, without a doubt, Dirk’s least favourite activity _ever_. There’s no fun and excitement to it, there’s no clues or hunches or new people to discover. There’s simply blank sheets of paper and lots of them. But _Farah_ pays the bills and _Farah_ insists they do some kind of paperwork to ensure the agency functions. Farah also isn’t here, which is why Dirk has written a grand total of 10 words and doodled on a post-it note in the last 3 hours. The universe doesn’t ask him to sum up case notes, or calculate incomings and outgoings or wonder if they’ve made a loss or a gain. This time it was definitely a gain, because Dirk got a new jacket in a lovely shade of magenta. 

Todd has positioned himself as far away from Dirk as possible under the pretence that he might actually get more work done and not be distracted by the ‘universe’. He’s hunched over his laptop, with a frown and a half chewed pen hanging out of the corner of his mouth and he hasn’t moved in a very long time. He won’t talk to Dirk, won’t alleviate his boredom, and is all in all being a _very poor friend_. He writes that down on his piece of paper underneath ‘found a piece of 1000 year old cheese. Very important.’ Dirk huffs and spins his chair and flicks an elastic band until he loses it underneath the bookcase, and his only solace is the tap of Todd’s fingers against his keyboard and the tap of raindrops sliding miserably down the windowpane. It reminds him of wintry Sunday afternoons at Cambridge when time seemed to stop altogether. 

After a while, Todd starts humming. This is the most intriguing thing that has happened since Farah has left, and Dirk immediately perks up. He peers over at Todd who seems completely engrossed in the laptop screen, eyes glassed over. He stops spinning in his chair and sits very still and very quiet and hopes that something exciting happens. 

Dirk’s very lucky that the universe likes him because it does.

He stares down at his piece of paper and tries not to break Todd out of his reverie and after what seems like an agonisingly long amount of time Todd’s hum gets louder and words form and he’s _singing_ again in that delightfully gravelly voice. 

It’s another original song and Dirk knows because he’s been secretly listening to everything he can get his hands on to not so secretly impress Todd (although Girls Aloud will always remain his firm favourites). He tries not to breathe because it might disturb Todd, but eventually his head goes dangerously fuzzy and he’s forced to take a little gasp. This song is different from the one’s Dirk’s heard before, slower and sadder and not at all like Todd usual upbeat, pseudo punk. It makes his heart ache a little bit until he hears the words. At first he doesn’t believe them, because it’s probably just his mind playing tricks on him, but when Todd definitely repeats the chorus Dirk has to accept the fact that _maybe_ Todd Brotzman feels more for him than an assisfriend should do. 

“And I see him in my dreams … Pulled away by another of creation’s streams … Too close to me I’ll burn and too far I’ll freeze … A single kiss from him would bring me to my knees …”

Dirk won’t lie, he’s in shock. More in shock than when he got hit by a crossbow bolt. _Twice_. Todd’s voice fades back into rough humming but Dirk hardly hears it over the blood roaring in his ears. 

Todd _likes_ him. 

_Like_ likes him. _As more than just an assisfriend_ likes him. And he’s staring at him. With a vaguely concerned look that’s probably because Dirk has definitely stopped breathing properly and has definitely gone very pale. He’s stopped humming too although that’s probably a less relevant point to consider. 

“Dirk? What’s wrong?” There’s an echo of that gravelly voice hidden in Todd’s words. It’s agonising. He sits there for a moment, torn with what to do. Todd’s his friend, and he’s terrified of ruining this, whatever _this_ is. There’s a hand on his shoulder, a warm and comforting weight, and when he opens his eyes Todd is there, looming too close. So close that something _stupid_ might happen. Will happen. He doesn’t think as he lurches forward, and he ends up lurching too far, lips accidentally planting themselves on Todd’s nose. He gasps in shock and embarrassment, and beats a hasty retreat.

Oh _shit_. 

He shoots up onto his feet and is already fumbling backwards, away from Todd, away from the confused look on his face, away from whatever thing he’s just finally shot in the head and _ruined._ His mouth is trying to form words but it’s just one long stammer, and Todd is still staring at him incredulously and he’d really rather be anywhere (within reason) than here. He stumbles and his back hits the wall. Todd blinks slowly and he winces. The apartment feels very small, smaller than when it was filled with Farah and Amanda and the Rowdies. Dirk’s not claustrophobic but his lungs are still struggling to breathe right. His legs jitter and Todd sighs. 

Then he walks towards him.

Then he leans up and kisses him. 

Then Dirk’s brain short circuits. 

For a start it is an infinitely better kiss because Todd has actually managed to press their lips together, which is certainly better than lip-on-nose. It’s also better because Todd’s hands have settled themselves on his waist, which is much better than his own hands that are rhythmically clenching and unclenching at his sides. Also Todd is very close and very warm and that is very nice but also very dangerous. And Todd is forcing him against the wall just enough to make his blood race, which is _also_ very dangerous. More dangerous than a mind-controlled lemming hoard.

Todd steps back after a moment, and Dirk can’t help the little gasp that escapes him and seems to make Todd’s lips curl affectionately. 

“What the _hell_ Dirk?” Well, that’s one way to put it. 

“The paperwork was … um, very dull?” It’s not a lie. It’s just not a truth either. Todd stares at him nonplussed and disbelieving. “That, and you were singing. Again.” Now it’s Todd’s turn for his eyes to widen and his cheeks to flush with unease. “It was all nice stuff, don’t worry. Very nice stuff. Stuff that made me think about stuff. And things.” 

“It was about the kiss right.” His head jolts into a nod and Todd’s shoulders heave. “... Sorry Dirk. You didn’t … You didn’t have to do that just because of a stupid song.”

“No! No, Todd I … I wanted to.” It’s a weight off of him. A huge crushing weight that suddenly turns into a balloon on a clear day and floats upwards into the sky. Todd is staring at him even harder now. 

“You _wanted_ to?” He can’t help roll his eyes at Todd’s obliviousness. 

“Yes. For _ages_. But I didn’t think you wanted to. So I didn’t.” And with that Todd starts to laugh. It erupts out of him, a full bodied, shaking, roar of laughter. Dirk chuckles awkwardly but he’s mainly just confused. There are tears in Todd’s eyes. 

And then Todd is kissing him again, body pressed flush against his, lips soft and pliant and moving. It takes his brain a minute to catch up with the current proceedings, but then he’s kissing Todd back, with all the enthusiasm he can muster (which in hindsight is perhaps a bit too much). Todd’s hands wind in his hair and his own hands hover with a vague uncertainty over the soft fabric of Todd’s tshirt, and there’s an eager tongue prying at him, and a leg slipping between his and inching up, up, up and the wall is very hard behind him and -

Oh _shit_.


End file.
